


good enough

by dozmuffinxc



Series: catch me as i fall [3]
Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: F/F, Girls Kissing, Kissing, Missing Scene, So much kissing, did i mention kissing?, finally ending that slow burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-15
Updated: 2018-11-15
Packaged: 2019-08-24 03:29:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16632047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dozmuffinxc/pseuds/dozmuffinxc
Summary: Hurley was elbows deep in grease, fiddling with the engine of the battle-wagon when she heard the soft knock on the garage door.





	good enough

Hurley was elbows deep in grease, fiddling with the engine of the battlewagon when she heard the soft knock on the garage door. It was so quiet, she almost missed it entirely, and Sloane – pounding away at a dent to the bumper which she had hauled over to her work bench across the room – certainly had done.

“Looks like you have company,” Hurley shouted, tossing a greasy rag so that it just barely missed Sloane’s head and landed neatly on the bench in front of her.

Sloane lifted her head from her work, and Hurley grinned at the sight of black finger marks raked across the other woman’s cheek where she must have swiped at a bit of sweat without remembering to take off her dirty gloves.

“Not now,” Sloane growled, her lips turned down into a severe frown as she glared at the door. Sloane hated disruptions to what she called “the Work,” but when Hurley looked closer, she was surprised to see not frustration but worry in her eyes.

The knock came again. Sloane threw her welding goggles aside and hurried to the garage door, cracking it open and positioning her body in front of the opening so that Hurley couldn’t tell who (or what) was on the other side.

Curious, Hurley tip-toed closer. As she peered around Sloane’s back, a tiny, cloaked figure looked up at her from the threshold with pale blue, watery eyes. The human girl couldn’t have been older than six or seven, and even to Hurley’s halfling eyes, she seemed ridiculously small.

“I’m sorry to bother you, miss,” the girl said, and fresh tears spilled onto her grimy cheeks, “but you said th-that if things were bad again, I c-c-could come to you.”

Sloane knelt down, and the look on her face was softer than anything Hurley had seen there before.

“And I meant it, Rosie,” Sloane said. “What’s happened?”

“Mum’s s-s-sick,” the little girl gasped, choking on a hiccup, “and the doctor won’t give her medicine because he says we c-c-c-can’t pay! If she doesn’t go back to work soon, she says we’ll lose the h-house.”

Hurley’s heart clenched in her chest. She had seen this sort of poverty more times than she could count while on rounds for the militia, and she always did what she could – a healing spell here, a few coins there – but the corruption that bred it could not be stopped with small favors, and this girl was just one more victim of the money-mad politicians who treated Goldcliff like their personal plaything.

Before Sloane could speak, Hurley held out a hand to the girl and gave her the warmest smile she could muster.

“Come in for some tea and let’s see if we can’t get this sorted, hm?”

The girl – Rosie, Sloane had said her name was – looked wary of the unfamiliar face, but Sloane’s nod was all the proof she needed that Hurley could be trusted. A few minutes later, they had Rosie in a chair by the stove in Sloane’s private quarters, and Hurley was bustling around the tiny kitchen in search of a clean mug and some tea that didn’t look like it had aged to dust. The girl seemed grateful just to hold something hot in her hands, and while Hurley made sure she was comfortable, Sloane went to a small chest in the corner of the room where Hurley knew she kept her battle-wagon winnings.

“Here,” she said, returning a moment later with a worn leather bag that clinked as she placed it in Rosie’s hands. “There’s enough for medicine, rent, food, and more besides.”

Rosie sniffed out a “thank you,” clutching the pouch to her chest like a life-line – which, Hurley supposed, it was.

“I don’t have to remind you not to let anyone see it when you walk home,” Sloane warned.

“No, ma’am!” Rosie replies, pushing the bag deep into the folds of her skirt.

“Good girl,” Sloane said, and then, to Hurley’s surprise, she reached down to wipe a smudge of dirt off the little girl’s face.

It was this act more than anything else that made Hurley realize with stunning clarity that this was not the first time Rosie had been in this room. This was not the first pouch of coins that Sloane had pressed on her, and she doubted it would be the last. How many like Rosie came here for help? Sloane hadn’t seemed at all surprised by the knock at the door earlier despite the fact that the garage rarely had visitors – at least, not while Hurley was there. 

And there was the way that Sloane acted with Rosie, as though the human child was her little sister rather than some wayward waif come to beg alms. Hurley knew there were hidden depths to Sloane’s rough exterior, the mask of bravado she put on during the races and the calculating roguishness she exuded while staging a heist, but this was something new entirely, and the halfling had to turn her head to hide the scarlet blush that flooded her cheeks as a wave of affection took her by surprise.

After they saw Rosie out, waving after her as they watched her scurrying down the street towards home, Hurley leaned against the doorframe and watched as Sloane sighed heavily, her hands clenched into fists at her side.

“How often do you do this?” Hurley asked. 

Sloane looked down at her with eyes that glittered with malice. Hurley knew (or at least hoped) that that anger wasn’t directed at her, but it made her shiver, nonetheless.

“As often as it takes,” Sloane replied, her voice hard.

Hurley followed her back into the garage as Sloane stalked back towards her workbench, but she couldn’t let it go. She had witnessed something intimate, and it was vital to her that Sloane know she could be trusted with such a confidence.

“You’re a good woman,” Hurley said slowly. 

Sloane scoffed.

“You are,” Hurley insisted. “But how do you afford it? The money you gave Rosie, that… that was easily your half of last race’s winnings.”

“You forget,” Sloane replied, her gaze boring into Hurley and her voice sharp with challenge, “that racing is hardly my only source of income.”

 _Of course._ How could Hurley forget? The Raven was a master thief, and just because Hurley set aside her lieutenant’s mantle every time she stepped through the garage doors, the rest of the world did not.

“Is that why you steal?” Hurley asked, her voice quiet. 

“Don’t make me out to be some poor man’s hero,” Sloane said. She looked suddenly very tired as she collapsed into a chair and, for the first time that day, refused to look Hurley in the eyes. “I enjoy stealing. It’s a game, and every time I crack open one of those pompous bastard’s vaults, I win.”

“But that’s not why you do it,” Hurley said, closing the distance between them with a few steps, “not really.”

Sloane looked up at her then, and before Hurley quite knew what was happening, Sloane had reached up and pulled Hurley’s face down to hers. When their lips crashed together, Hurley felt the faint sting of teeth against tender flesh, but she couldn’t have cared less because _Sloane was kissing her_ and nothing could be wrong in the world.

When Sloane drew back, her cheeks were flushed and her golden eyes were dark with an emotion Hurley never thought she would see there.

“Is this… is this OK?” Sloane asked, her voice rough and breathless. Dazed, Hurley didn’t reply immediately, and when Sloane saw her hesitate, she began to turn away, embarrassment turning her cheeks ruddier still.

“I’m sorry,” she began to say. “I shouldn’t have presumed…”

But Hurley cut her off by grabbing her sleeve and turning her back around, pushing her back into the chair and holding her at arm’s length for just a moment.

“Sloane,” she breathed, “it’s amazing. _You’re_ amazing. I can’t… do you know how long I’ve wanted to do that?”

“Really?” Sloane replied, her tone slightly incredulous. 

Hurley swooped in and kissed her, hard and urgent, putting all of the excruciating weeks of longing into the pressure of her lips against Sloane’s. The half-elf’s hands crept up her neck and long fingers wove into her hair as she kissed back with a need that seemed, impossibly, to match Hurley’s own.

When they broke apart at last, both women were panting. Hurley thought it must be a minor miracle that her heart hadn’t already burst from happiness, and when Sloane looked at her, she couldn’t keep from giggling. Sloane’s mad cackle soon joined hers, and the walls of the garage rang with their laughter.

Hurley never made it to her shift that night. 

When Captain Bane confronted her the next morning, he had no trouble believing her story that she had been too ill to send word. The dark circles under her eyes were enough to verify that she hadn’t slept, and after all, Lieutenant Hurley was his most trustworthy officer. There was no cause for suspicion, and when she assured him it would never happen again, he was uncharacteristically magnanimous.

As he turned away, Hurley’s contrite expression broke into an ear-to-ear grin, and as she pushed open the door to Captain Bane’s office, she felt in her pocket for the soft down of a single, black feather.


End file.
